An Unavoidable Custody Battle
by evilpinklollipop
Summary: Harry Potter died in 1986 at five years old, which wasn't supposed to happen. Then his soul somehow ended up in the wrong Heaven which really, really wasn't supposed to happen. Then suddenly Harry awoke, alive, with the weirdest group of babysitters ever. Now Dumbledore and the rest of the magical world are in quite a lot of trouble.
1. Harry Meets a Nice Man

Summary: Harry Potter died in 1986 at five years old, which wasn't supposed to happen. Then his soul somehow ended up in the wrong Heaven which really, really wasn't supposed to happen. Then suddenly Harry awoke, alive, with the weirdest group of babysitters ever. Now Dumbledore and the rest of the magical world are in quite a lot of trouble.

Note: This is a crossover idea that kind of just popped up in my head, and I will be posting it in short updates. I'm trying to keep each chapter about a thousand words.

Disclaimer and warnings: This is a crossover and I hold no right to either products. There is also BASHING! of some of the Weasleys & and a manipulative Dumbledore. And others of both series. Harry is NOT a BAMF version, and the Archangels are not overly good or bad, or are they the solutions for every problem. Major Character death.

* * *

Chapter one: Harry Meets a Nice Man

* * *

It was the twenty third of July, 1986, and the day had not been good for one little boy named Harry.

That day, which started as just another Tuesday, had the sun out shining and the sky clear. It had looked nice through a window- from inside the house- but it was actually hot. Really really hot. So very hot that everyone with common sense stayed inside, with the fans pointed directly at their faces and the air conditioning dialed as low as possible. It wasn't even mid day yet, only about ten, but the roads were already rolling with heat. Eggs could be cooked on the sidewalks, and people were reminding each other to drink water and stay in the shade, and if they didn't need to go out- they didn't. It was just another stifling hot summer mornings.

But for five year old Harry Potter, who didn't have any other choice but to go outside and pull weeds in the back garden, it was not just hot.

It happened rather quickly really. One moment he was leaning over aunt Petunia's daffodils, tugging and pulling out some sticklers when his ears started buzzing, his head flopped to the side and his body went too hot. Too too hot. And Harry had tried to rub it away, he did, but the little boy's vision spun like a top as he made a audible thump when he fell over. He blinked back up at the sky in surprise as his limbs tingled terribly, and he could remember gasping for air, from relief from the heat.

He even remembered the tugging sensation in his head, like someone had pulled him in two direction. There had been this loud screaming... _thing_ , that had violently shrieked and thrown a terrible tantrum as a tall man in a black suit dragged it far away, grumbling about mortal men and fools errands, and as Harry groggily curled in a ball on the ground another man rushed forward. As Harry was picked up gently by another man, who somehow looked annoyed and relieved at the same time, he sighed.

That had been the best part.

He even remembered the man's face, even though he had been very sleepy. He had been _so nice_ and his arms felt really comfortable around him. The man just _being there_ was nice _,_ and as he tucked little Harry into his lap the little boy giggled, trying to hug him back. Harry remembered how worried he looked, how he had patted him down nervously and checked every finger and toe like a concerned mommy with a new baby. Harry even remembered how his eyes were so nice as he brushed back Harry's hair, before kissing his forehead. That had felt wonderful.

"What are you doing here?" Harry even remembered what he said. It was amazing! His voice had been so amazing sounding too, like all the best things put together, and he sighed, very sadly.

"Oh, child."

His voice was better than any singing he ever heard, even when aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon made him go to church. Or when people talked or sang on the radio. And it made him feel happy and warm and just so so, so _nice._ And, even though the man spoke very fast and looked mad about something- or worried, Harry wasn't good at telling when adults thought things- he wasn't mad at Harry. Which was good. Because Harry never wanted to make him mad at him.

The man blew out some air through his clenched teeth, and his forehead wrinkled in that way adult did when they were upset. He tucked Harry under his chin as he gently patted his back, and Harry didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around his neck, sighing at the contact. He never got hugs, unlike Dudley, and it was so so _wonderful_.

The man then scratched his bristled jaw and, with a frown, called out rather annoyed for his kids apparently.

And then Harry opened his eyes.

* * *

He was back in aunt Petunia's garden.

Harry blinked sleepily up at the sky like before, but this time he wasn't hot or felt sick. Or in pain. Or anything unpleasant. Instead his skin was chilled like he was inside a refrigerator, with his clothes clean instead of covered in sweat or dirt like before. And it was the exact opposite of how he felt before he met the nice man.

He blinked owlishly up at the blue sky before rubbing his eyes, a gently breeze ruffling his hair as he slowly sat up. He slowly brought his hand up to see he was still holding the same bunch of weeds, and as he wrinkled his nose and sat up his head felt somehow better, _lighter,_ than before. Harry looked around in confusion, looking for the nice man as he rubbed his forehead, where his nasty scar was.

He was surprise to find that the skin wasn't raised like normal at all. Or that it didn't hurt. If he couldn't still trance the outline of the cracked skin, he couldn't tell it was there anymore.

"Boy!" Harry jerked and turned around to see his uncle poking his head out of the door. Vernon's face was already glowing red from the heat as he scowled down at the boy, tugging on his tight collar on his too small suit, which was already covered in sweat stains.

"You better not be slacking off!" his uncle snapped, "Finish up or no dinner!"

Harry's eyes went wide and he nodded, "Yes sir." He didn't get lunch today because he messed up breakfast, so he was already going to be really really hungry.

Harry hurriedly back to the daffodils, quick to start again so he wouldn't go another night hungry in his cupboard. Vernon huffed before snapping the door closed behind him and he wheezed loudly as he waddled over to the fan in his living room. Dudley was moaning dramatically in front of the television, his fifth red Popsicle dripping messily on the carpet as his father pointed the biggest fan at his face.

The little boy continued to do yard work throughout the entire day, but he stayed happy. Even as he pulled weed after weed his mood stayed the same, even starting to hum under his breath a little song he heard somewhere as the hours ticked back. Harry stayed in his comfortably chilled bubble the entire time, during one of the worst heat wave of the year and not even the sticklers, which usually left his hands covered in cuts and pricks, seemed able to hurt him.

When his uncle didn't give him dinner anyways that night, his stomach didn't hurt like it normally did either. Neither did his body ache from all the yard work, and he sighed contently into his blankets. Snuggling into a comfortable little ball under the stairs, he quickly fell asleep. Even his cupboard somehow felt better than normal.

It wasn't a surprise that he dreamed of that wonderfully nice man giving him a hug again, and Harry smiled even in his sleep.


	2. The Five Times it Took

Summary: The first of five segments called, 'When they learned better". The following chapters will be mostly in Petunia, Vernon, Dudley, and Dumbledore viewpoint. The last is in Harry's view. It all of them realizing and dealing with the new sitters, pretty much.

Notes: So the next five chapters are before Hogwarts era, while Harry is still five. When that's done, the first book of the Harry potter series begins!

* * *

Chapter Two: The Five Times it Took for Petunia Dursley to Learn Better

* * *

The first person to notice something had changed, dramatically, was Petunia Dursley.

It was a week after the boy had taken a nap in the yard, when she had taken the little freak to a Sunday brunch with her Dudley. The entire _important_ part of the neighborhood was present for this little religious gathering, which turned out to be an amazing opportunity for her to flaunt her newest gossip, as well as being Christan. The right religion was important, especially here, and it had been wonderful.

Until that _boy_ had purposefully spilled his drink on old Miss Harress for attention.

Her perfect little Dudley Wuddly quickly pointed him out and told everyone about his _horrible_ behavior. And, of course, it was her Dudley after all. Her and the others rounded on that terrible child quickly and everything was going so perfectly. Well, as perfectly as it could, with him being around. So it was no surprise that as she pulled him away to the car, everyone was going on and on about how wonderful her family was to take in such a problem child of their relatives. Praising them for dealing with such a burden! So it wasn't all bad. Though, she would not be taking him out to anything until next year again.

But then a Bible which Mr. Groffer had been holding, who had always praised about charity with his _too good attitude_ , flew out of his hands and whacked her right in the back of the head.

And it had been one of those really thick, really old cliff-note versions of the old Testament. The one with a thick hardcover and pockets to put more papers in.

Everyone stared silently as she shrieked, the large thwack of book meeting skull still echoing in the mid afternoon breeze, and Mr. Groffer even hurriedly crossed himself as she embarrassingly stumbled off.

 _It was horrifying._ And that that, that _boy_ had the nerve to look shocked too! Like he didn't do it with his own freakishness! _  
_

* * *

The next time Petunia knew something was surely different was when she left that boy in the car to pick up some groceries with her Dudley. She wasn't even in the store for more than a minute, grabbing her sweet little baby boy his favorite treats while he pointed more out, when a call came over the announcements.

It was a big surprise to hear her car license plate called over the loud speakers. And it was terrible how she had to drag her little baby away before they even got to the cereal aisle.

It was an even bigger surprise to see the large crowd gathering up front, and how the cashiers scowled at her darkly. And it was really, very terrible when she noticed the two coppers waiting by the door there as well.

She paled and squawked as they walked to the car, where another group were cooing over that boy. The back window of her husband's wonderful sedan was smashed in, the remnants all but ignored on the ground as a nice, cool drink of ice water was handed to the brat by an obviously well made family. He was surrounded by copious amounts of people. All of them wearing better than normal clothing. They were also all talking loudly, some fanning him dramatically as others shook their heads in distaste, and the boy didn't shy away like he was told to.

She saw red.

While she screeched about how they broke her car, and how they were going to pay for it and how she, and the cops, were going to get to the bottom of this- it hadn't been a surprise that the coppers nodded along with her.

Until they issued _her_ a summonings for reckless endangerment of a minor, and charged her twenty five pounds with a court hearing in three months.

Petunia thought it couldn't get any worse.

* * *

Then she got a call from the Primary school the next week _accusing_ her perfectly perfect Dudley Wuddly of bullying _._

Unthinkable. No, simply impossible. Her Dudley was the perfect little boy.

She promptly ignored the parts where the teacher tried to talk about that boy's behavior, and how splendid he was suddenly doing with the other children. No, he was going right into the cupboard when he got home. There was no way that this wasn't his freakish doing.

Her genius Dudley suddenly doing badly at primary school?

Inconceivable!

She immediately began using the eyes on the back of her head to pay closer attention.

* * *

He was gaining weight. That was obvious after a month. Slowly, but surely, the boy was filling out. His cheeks had gained color and roundness, his eyes brighter and more alert, and he wasn't tired in the morning or half way through the day. He suddenly could finish his chores quicker.

Which meant he. Was. Stealing.

Petunia seethed as she watched him in the corner of her eye. How dare he be so smug, just taking and taking, like it was his. Like it was just some free commodity this family owed him, just for existing in their house! He was given as much as he was needed, no more. No less. They weren't going to spoil him fat, especially when he didn't deserve any special treatment compared to anyone else.

So she took away his lunches and dinners. For two weeks.

He would be fine, because she had done it before. He would mope around, which would lead Vernon to put him up, and then he wouldn't do whatever he had done ever again. There weren't any lasting effects, other than a sore stomach and a rightful respect of authority.

He had looked so shocked, so scared when she announced his punishment. But she immediately ignored that.

She even ignored how the room got colder, blaming it on seasonal change.

Until she learned people were sharing their lunches with him at school. Multiple people, of different classes and groups all somehow deciding that this week and the next would be dubbed, "share a little, have a lot- lunch days". Something all the teachers apparently loved.

How dare they approve of a communist state.

And then on the weekend, somehow, multiple people of respectable families in the neighborhood all decided to show up. All of them thinking the exact same thing. With extra food and a lovely attitude, all of them were just _dying_ to share their dinners with _everyone_ of the Dursley residence. At least four of them per day. For both weeks. There was so much food that she had to give him some too, because it wouldn't fit in the refrigerator.

She was at her wits end trying to figure out what freakish things he was doing like Lily had, just waiting for him to slip up.

* * *

So when she finally caught him while Marge was visiting for a day, she didn't hesitate to smack him hard across the head.

After all, scorching hot tea right from the burner had just been dropped on his exposed arm, and he was perfectly fine. Which wasn't fine at all. He again had the decency to try to look surprised after he pulled his arm back with a hiss, before looking at the unblemished skin in awe.

And she lunged, swinging. It was a sharp impact that snapped his head to the side and Marge hiccuped in surprise at the severity of the blow, and for a moment Petunia was everything including smug.

And then she was just happy that Vernon had taken Dudley to that carnival that'd come to town, so they weren't home to witness what happened next.

The last, normal thought she had was the confusion over why the air seemed to be shaking.

* * *

When Vernon returned home a few hours later to find his wife and sister sitting in the lawn pale as ghosts with their hair and clothing slightly scorched, the freak sitting between them quietly, he had been upset. Then he noticed that every window in the house was blown in and the living room in disarray, so he started screaming until he turned purple.

That is, before Petunia all but threw a bible into his arms and told him, rather shortly, to start reading.


	3. The Four Times it Took

Part two of 'When they learned better".

I'm not late nu-uh, nope. Because I tried really, really _really_ hard to post this. Like, really. But my doctors were being really mean. I think their overrating to be honest. It's like a person can't be admitted to the ER multiple times without _someone suddenly_ acting like I've got a problem. We've established that part. And somehow they thought that all of their medical insight would stop me. Ha! Just because they did their entire, -just-pass-out-damnit-and-stay-still-or-we'll-turn-off-the-internet-we-are-not-kidding- eye threats, they thought I would stop?

Ha, please. Those poor poor amazing bastards. I've had three years of being ill to prefect this.

So yea, I'm not late. No throwing anything at me. Schedules are impossible. But this one is like, twice as long as the others soooo...

* * *

Chapter three: The Four Times it Took for Vernon Dursley to Learn Better

* * *

Angels were warriors, yes, but The Children of Heaven affected them all the same way. Fledglings, or hatchlings, or a smaller light, or the Newest Creations of their garrisons- whatever they were called, it was part of the angels greater design that, at the mere presence of one, some would drop everything and just _coo._

Which could create a problem. They would be hidden under wings and played with, or just carried around while the elders slacked off. One or two could always be found wandering about in the barracks or the libraries, smuggled in. It wasn't allowed or course, but no one really paid it any attention.

And at one time, only an infant of Heaven could make Micheal and Lucifer tolerate each other long enough to get anything done. So many of the troops had resorted to keeping one or two under a wing just in case.

But that was before and this was now. And there hadn't been a one created since the dawn of man. And that little known fact had become almost unbearable. It was a common consensus that without them though, Heaven was quiet.

But then their Father had found one on the outskirts of reality. Which, had made him really rather angry about it. He commanded all the Host to come. And his words were absolute. He had given them one standing order.

 **Care for it. Now**.

The Host weren't just shocked.

It was all out panic.

* * *

So, looking back at it, Vernon Dursley could have used that information.

The Host of Heaven were warriors who cared for their weak and untrained. Simple and straight forward... to a point. They didn't coddle- _usually_ \- or ninny, or sit around on a person's shoulder waiting at their beck and call. They were instruments of battle. Yes, there were fledglings and, yes, they had _basic_ instincts when it came to them. But they were of conquest, and could be directed by sheer force of will into weapons that _burned_ and _seared_ and _obliterated_ the very existence of their enemies. That was what they were. What they were purposed for in The Beginning. Angels were the first hammers to be struck down. And, of course, they were the means to an end to His will. The Host did not charge into war but simply instead laid waste to any who stood in their path.

But Vernon Dursley did not know any of that.

Which, probably, was why he was still doing what he was doing. Most likely he would have reevaluated many of his recent life choices, and focused on the now- slim- chance of his continued existence if he did.

But, seeing how he didn't know, that tiny really rather important bit of information, he was seconds away from a smiting. Or from multiple angelic blades slamming into his throat. Which ever happened first really.

So it was probably a very good thing that he didn't.

So, instead of panicking like he should, Vernon flipped through the yellow pages as he grumbled under his breath. It was the next morning, after all the windows were blown out in his house, and he was sitting at the kitchen table stewing. His face a permanent shade of red as he watched as his beautiful wife prepare breakfast. His wonderful little flower, his poor little pookie Petunia was twitching at the most random things. And she was also making breakfast instead of the boy.

Which, well, was weird.

She had been acting strange all morning. And, as he tried to find _someone_ to come out and replace all those broken windows from last night, he couldn't help but think his wife wasn't being reasonable. Because, really, it was the next morning and instead of focusing on what mattered- _his_ _house was destroyed for gods sake!-_ he could only watch his beautiful wife prepare breakfast in disbelief. The most random things in the house spooking her and, even more annoyingly, he also noticed how she was refusing to look at him. Not once this morning did she even glance at his direction.

What in the bloody blazes was going on?

And so, as Vernon flipped through the yellow pages grumbling under his breath, he tried to find _someone_ to come out and replace all these windows. He didn't stop himself from scrunching up his face and huffing.

Clearly the stress from dealing with that _freak-_ his face purpled at the mere thought of him, the scrawny little thing was sitting silently across from him, with his head down and not moving an inch- had gotten to his wife. He was going to have to send her to a nice resort. Or something.

And even more so, after Petunia had thrown a book, _a Bible of all things_ at his face and now she wasn't even letting the brat get his punishment! Every time he'd gone to correct the boy, or even shout at him a little, Petunia had made a b-line to head him off.

So now he was sitting at his kitchen table adding up all the damages, gathering all the broken things, and the boy was just sitting there! And he really couldn't quite well take it!

She was acting like nothing happened, fretting over the breakfast with shaking hands and a pale face, even as her hair was still scorched at the tips. He could still smell smoke in the house! He was literally looking at her burned hair!

On _top_ of her _own_ head!

 _... and she wasn't reacting at all!?_

Vernon smacked a heavy hand onto the table, sneering as it rattled his cup of tea. And the boy flinched.

Good.

Clearly it was that sniveling little menace's fault, of course. Did that brat even have the slightest idea how much it was going to cost him to replace everything? How many question the neighbors were going to ask?

No, of course not, the freak probably couldn't understand basic English! So Vernon was done, so very absolutely done with his wife blatant stalling and all of this boy's freakishness! The solution was simple and straightforward, even if Petunia had made him wait until the morning to deal with it.

He'd use a heavy hand, like normal.

But, as he proceeded to yanked the freak up to his feet- just a sharp tug on the boy's scrawny arm really- he missed how his wife paled, or how the room suddenly seemed to close in one him.

Vernon Dursely was not ready.

The earsplitting noise that ripped through the house was so high pitched and terrible that it drowned out Vernon and Petunia's howls, both ducking under the table. They clasped their hand over their ears as they curled into protective balls, and It was such a terribly loud sound that, had the windows not already been broken, they would have shattered alongside every glass and plate in the kitchen.

The sound continued for almost a minute, until it cut off so abruptly that it made Vernon's ears ring and pulse in pain. He'd thought he'd gone deaf. And even an hour later he was still shouting and screaming as he tried to get his hearing back- snapping his fingers frantically by his ears.

Which meant he completely missed the petrified glances Petunia gave the brat at his table. Whom was still in his chair, a curious expression on his face instead of pain.

* * *

But really, the first time Vernon actually noticed something had changed, dramatically, was the following morning on Monday.

He was walking to his sedan, wheezing heavily as he jiggled his keys in his slightly too large fingers, when a hoodlum- one of those _diseased filled homeless things, the lot of them-_ appeared out of nowhere and stepped in his way.

The man stood awkwardly in his driveway, blocking him from the driver door. How he didn't notice the man before Vernon didn't have a clue.

Vernon sneered as the man just continued to stare at him emptily. And it looked like the man, still in his early thirties, would rather be dealing with _anyone_ else. And Vernon could agree. There was nothing more useless, more miserable than the scum of society. The homeless were just stumbling around idiots that took and took.

Vernon tried to ward the thing off by shaking his work case, growling as he kept his distance so not to catch whatever it had. But as he tried to shuffle around him there was a rather large problem.

The man wouldn't budge.

"God has a message for you." the man spoke up over Vernon's grunts and huffs and he frowned, thinking it over with a sigh. "Unfortunately."

Vernon shook his bag harder. Great. The hoodlum was also a _foreigner_.

Ugh.

"Out of the way!" Vernon hissed, his face rapidly purpling as he tried to wiggle out. "I don't give charity to the lazy!"

How had one of these things even gotten into the neighborhood?! Shouldn't someone had called the police before it could make it down to the better parts of town? Stupid rot of the society, stealing pensions from the hard working civilized folk and messing with the good people during the day! This is why there should be no homeless zones! Put spikes on the benches and on the corners of shop sidewalks he says!

The man just raised a brow, his posture completely still. Like a brick wall.

"He's so rude." Another voice started behind him, dryly. "And here I was, going to do the same greeting spill again. You know the entire, _'Hark, be not afraid'_ thing?"

Vernon spun around, so quickly that he saw double for a moment before focusing on another shorter man standing on his porch. _His porch!_ And there he was, leaning against the front door to his house like he owned the place, while examining his pinky nail in fascination and completely bored.

"Get away from my house! You bloody thing!" Vernon screeched, and the second one looked up as the large vein on the side of Vernon's head pulsed, looking rather fascinated by it.

"Well never mind. _"_ The man huffed, " _Very_ rude. I take it back. _'Hark, be afraid'_ asshole."

The first one sighed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Go away." The first one groaned.

 _"Make me~!_ " The second one sang.

"How about the both of you _get out of my neighborhood!"_ Vernon barked, trying to swing his bag like a weapon. "Don't you have somewhere to get nicked!"

How dare they be around normal people! They should stay in their section and keep quiet! Vernon spun around, shouting through the still not there windows.

"Petunia! Call the cops! Now!" He roared, swinging his arms rapidly as his wife's face appeared in the open window way.

Both men turned, staring him down with matching looks of petty indulgence and boredom, which somehow made them seem related as Petunia looked out- only for her eyes to promptly roll into the back of her head in a dead faint as she caught sight of the two. As the distant sound of his Petunia-wunia's body hitting the floor sounded in the front garden, all the hairs on Vernon's neck and back stood on end.

With a high squeak, Vernon noticed just how uncomfortably humid the air suddenly seemed to be.

"That's not polite." The man by his sedan hummed, as the temperature dropped dramatically.

"Extremely Rude." The man on his porch grunted, and the air became charged.

Vernon tried to scoff, tugging on his tight collar as his armpits soaked through, which was very hard to do right then. Seeing how all the air seemingly disappeared. And after a moment of hesitation he quickly sucked in his gut as far as it would go and shuffled towards his car. Stepping around the clearly drugged _hooligans_ to get to his sedan, he didn't waste any time yanking his door open and hastily getting it.

He slammed the door shut, locking it as quickly as he could.

Good. The faster he was out of here, the better! Hopefully his wife would call the cops while he was at work at get them sent off somewhere. But as he went to start the engine, he had to freeze. His keys to the ignition, a the voice rattled the very air.

The first man stared him down from right outside his door and, _somehow_ , even inside of his car Vernon could heard him clearly.

"Vernon Dursley," He looked almost bored as he raised a lazy fist, but his eyes betrayed him.

They were burning.

"Enough of that hard hand of yours."

With that Vernon reared his engine and sped away, almost running that one over he was sure.

He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of wasting his time, so he quickly went about forgetting the entire encounter completely.

* * *

It didn't work.

The words were almost on repeat, following him around like a black mark for the rest of the day.

In less than an hour at work he had somehow destroyed both of his tea mugs he had stanched in his drawer. Then his pants ripped into two when he tried to stand up, the sound echoing through the room and making everyone stop and just stare.

Then he'd got frustrated with the printer and hit it at lunch time. Which, now that he knew, was a _terrible terrible idea._

The bloody thing _fell apart._

Into eleven different pieces! Eleven!

Then at three, right as he slapped the wall while laughing at one of Conner's jokes by the water cooler, the wall behind him caved in. Literally. And the floor. And then the water cooler fell through the not-there-floor.

He'd had to stand there, peering down into a giant hole with four other coworkers as his boss stared up at him from another level of the building.

He had thought it couldn't ever get any worse.

Until he got home.

He screamed when, as he tried to change the channel on his television, his finger went _through_ the button and into the wood. Like paper. And then there was a loud fizzling pop as his wonderful television died under his hand.

His. Television. Died!

DIED!

Everything else was one thing, but this was another! That was his _television!_

He had raged and hollered for hours, Dudley beside him inconsolable as he sobbed in despair, and it wasn't until Petunia forced him to go to the store and buy a new one that he stopped.

So Vernon finally notice just how much of a change there was.

And he had a _bloody good idea_ who was at fault! And, just two hours later after plugging in his new television, he grabbed the boy and decided to give him another lesson!

* * *

The chorus of agitated sighs heard throughout were muted by the sudden, and violent, explosion that erupted inside of the Shurrey residence. Though a few soul in their respective Heavens did notice what appeared to be a sudden random bout of thunderstorms in their happy place.

* * *

Officially the incident was reported as a small to moderate earthquake on the news, barely felt by people a mile or so out from the epicenter. And, after everyone quieted down after realizing there wouldn't be another one, the news returned to the more fascinating gossip of a cheating ex boy band member. Really fascinating stuff, really. And seeing how there wasn't _much_ damage, and no one died, it was forgotten in less than a week.

Coincidentally, it was a week later after the "earthquake" that Vernon Dursely woke up in the hospital. His entire body was covered in a white cast and his legs strung up in slings, and he had the unfortunate time of having to deal with a really really, _really_ ugly nurse named Bertha taking care of him. Who apparently didn't know her own strength as she washed him.

By hand.

So Vernon Dursely started reading that damn Bible Petunia gave him.


End file.
